


Heaven Knows

by Xhuuya



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, PWP, Sexual Fantasy, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xhuuya/pseuds/Xhuuya
Summary: Pre-Talon Amelie struggles with a strong sense of guilt and shame over her true feelings for a certain doctor. What better way to deal with that than fantasizing?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To Shame Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603884) by [Tah the Trickster (TahTheTrickster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahTheTrickster/pseuds/Tah%20the%20Trickster). 



> Tah had an idea in discord for an angst pwp, gave me a summary of the idea, and I decided to write the same sort of idea from a different perspective. We're terrible people. Sorry not sorry XD

> _ “Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before--more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.” -Charles Dickens/Great Expectations _

  
  


Amelie’s loneliness consumes her the moment the door clicks shut behind Gerard—it tries to claw at her, to drag her under the surface of despair over and over. Every time he is called out—whether for a legitimate mission or to see the man she knows all too well he’s sleeping with behind her back, and sometimes both—she feels the grief and fear coil around her in icy tendrils that move like angry serpents over her pale skin. Try as she might not to, she still cares for him, even as those feelings seek the empty spaces between the increasing amounts of shame and contempt, bubbling to the surface when the AI reminds her in a sickeningly sweet voice that the security system has been rearmed. They are not so different in their secrets, she thinks as she hears the hum of his vehicle move away from the flat. 

 

The flat is cold, but Amelie can’t find the energy to move more than to curl into herself on the couch. She tucks her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her calves and resting her cheek against her knees. A faint ticking noise of an old clock accompanies the soft pattering of rain against the windows.

 

The shame corrodes the parts of her that beg for change, the parts that know she should leave and seek happiness elsewhere. On some days she’d rather run a blade over her skin just to feel something other than shame. Instead of dwelling on it this time, she thinks about how she should invest in a simple blanket to toss over the back of the couch; at the very least it would be pleasant for guests.

 

_ Guests? _

 

_ One guest in particular. _

 

The guest that probably has the sweatshirt she would normally be wearing in this case. Amelie is sure that she left it at the doctor’s house at some point. She drags her cheek over her knee and closes her eyes, leaning her head back with a huff towards the ceiling—though it was the fault of her flat that she felt this way. She wills herself not to imagine that beautiful woman wearing that soft fleece, wills herself not to believe that Angela thought of her when she put it on—because honestly, Angela is nothing if not a curious individual, and she would definitely at least  _ try it on _ . 

 

No matter how hard she tries to push the onslaught of images from her mind, they won’t relent—Angela in her sweatshirt, Angela with sleepy eyes and a mug of coffee just barely held up by tired hands, Angela in her scrubs when she’s covered in sweat from rushing around trying to save every life she touches, Angela in those private moments that she smiles at Amelie when she doesn’t think she’s looking, while Amelie pretends to be watching the movie but can’t stop thinking about the warmth settling in her chest seeing that smile light those gorgeous blue eyes. 

 

It has been too long since they have seen each other last.

 

Amelie misses Angela. 

 

_ Merde. You are married, Amelie. You are imagining your  _ **_friend_ ** _.  _

 

Amelie misses Angela more than it’s appropriate for a married woman to miss her best friend. 

 

She uncurls and lays out on her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut and pushing her face into the pillow she buries her arms underneath. Her groan of frustration is muffled by the fabric. 

 

_ But what about the way her friend makes her heart race? What of those more secret, mischievous smiles that Amelie sometimes caught? What of those looks that almost screamed at her _ look at what these dexterous physician hands could do to take your mind off that loneliness of yours _?  _

 

What had been a dull ache before rises like molten heat between her legs, and she groans, raking her nails over the cloth beneath her. The desire hits her  like a gravitational force, pulling her mind into an undiluted fantasy with unprecedented power and immediacy. When she realizes that she has no hope for ignoring it—her breaths already ragged and uneven when she finally turns her head—she flips herself onto her back and moves an eager and impatient hand over her chest.

 

It’s easy to imagine Angela shifting her position on the couch during one of those silly movies she likes, closing the distance and surprising Amelie by pressing her weight into her, pinning her down as she crawls over her with a rakish smile. “ _ I can’t hold back anymore, Ame.”  _

 

Amelie’s eyes flutter closed as she struggles to calm her breathing. _God, Amelie dreams of Angela telling her how much better she could fuck her than her husband can._ _She hates the way she_ knows _it’s true._ She whimpers again and pinches her nipples hard through her shirt, hoping the jolt of pain can make up for shame she should have for having fantasies about adultery, but all she can think about is that she isn’t cold anymore.

 

Her warmth is more than evident as her hand slides lower, beneath her pants, to rub lazy and teasing circles over black lace. Her free hand tugs her shirt up and away from her aching nipples, finding some release in moving her palm over them in matching circles. Her breath hitches as she imagines Angela’s fingertips skimming over her thighs when she leans down to take one of her abused nipples in her soft lips, never taking her eyes off Amelie as she swirls her tongue around it. Goosebumps flare over her skin, following the movements of the phantom Angela.

 

Finding the contact not enough to sate the sudden burning, Amelie slides her fingers beneath the lace, arching her back as her fingers meet wet heat. Her fingers press against slick folds, hips twitching when she squeezes her clit gently between her knuckles. When she could swear she hears a devious laugh against her ear, her sharp intake of breath exhales Angela’s name in a pathetic whimper.

 

For a brief moment, Amelie pauses, realizing further how desperately she wants what she’s fantasizing—if Angela came through her door right now, she wouldn’t hesitate to beg her to  _ touch her _ ,  _ please. Please, Angela, I need you. _

 

It’s so wrong, but she can’t find it in her to care enough to stop.

 

Admitting that fact seems to only strengthen the fantasy. 

 

She spreads her thighs, imagining the distance enough to fit Angela between them. One foot dangles from the side of the couch,  the other pressing a dent to the back cushions as another whimper hisses through her clenched teeth. She imagines Angela’s cool hands pushing them further apart so she can stare down at her with greedy eyes. Amelie bites back her whine. 

 

_ Show me what it’s like to belong to you. Tell me I’m yours. Fuck me until I scream your name. Fuck me until I forget how to feel anything but you. _

 

Amelie imagines the way Angela would sound—breathless as she moves from her ear  to the steady pulse below—when the good doctor whispers to her, “ _ I know you think of me. _ ” She imagines what it would feel like when Angela presses her lips to her skin, drags her teeth over her neck, and sucks just enough to leave her mark on her, “ _ I want you too, you know.”   _

 

The thought of it sends another bolt of heat to Amelie’s core, and she curls two fingers over her clit, pressing harder. She imagines it’s Angela stroking over her, feeling how wet she makes her, and purring another delicious laugh against her ear. She imagines it’s Angela when she buries two fingers into her aching cunt, desperate for it to be Angela’s fingers curling against the spot that makes vision go briefly white. Angela would learn and memorize each of her favorite motions simply to unravel her in the most delightful ways. Her hips jerk again at the thought. She arches her back, pressing against her palm and grinding it against her clit as she fucks herself into a blissful oblivion, whispering Angela’s name again and again.

 

She adds a third finger and can’t stifle the strangled cry it rips from her, only wishing she could bury the low growl it becomes in that beautiful golden hair. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter.  _ So close. So close. Angela, please.  _ She increases her speed, hips erratic to try and match the pace of her fingers, rubbing rapid circles with the palm pressed against her clit, until she comes with a desperate moan. 

 

Her body shudders as she continues slower, riding out the orgasm whispering Angela’s name like a prayer until she collapses back to the couch. 

 

As the afterglow fades, the sickness of her shame rushes to meet her like a physical blow, and she feels the tears on her cheeks before she can appropriately acknowledge why she’s crying.

 

Angela is the light of her life, and Amelie refuses to stop cloaking her shame in the perpetual darkness of her shadow. Amelie is mostly ashamed at her own inability to recognize what is obvious.

 

Shame derives power from the unspeakable, the things that one cannot possibly hope to control.

 

She doesn’t love Gerard.

  
She loves Angela.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank yall for the support. Feel free to leave me a comment to lemme know what you thought or whatnot. Not exactly the happiest of my smut, but hope you enjoyed the feels =P

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Shame Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603884) by [Tah the Trickster (TahTheTrickster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahTheTrickster/pseuds/Tah%20the%20Trickster)




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